


Quiet

by Deanon



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Complete, Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deanon/pseuds/Deanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Mike wondering how else he could make Chuck scream, and it's all downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the kink meme over here:  
> http://motorkink.dreamwidth.org/272.html?thread=499728#cmt499728
> 
> Somebody asked for a crosspost, and I wanted a better-formatted version, so here it is!

Mike could write a book on the noises that Chuck makes. He wouldn’t, because that would be kind of weird, but he  _could_ , because he took notice of all of them.   
  
There would be a whole chapter, of course, dedicated to his screams of terror. (Well. Maybe a couple chapters. Maybe half the book. Mike was  _really_ familiar with all of Chuck’s screams of terror.) But that wasn’t all there would be in there, because Chuck was a really vocal person all of the time. There would be a chapter dedicated to programming-Chuck – frustrated mumbles and cut-off curses and occasional all-out groans; the little happy noise when he finally got something he’d been working on; the  _cheer_  that you could hear through the whole garage when something worked for the first time (which doubled as Mike’s cue that it was safe to talk to Chuck again.)  
  
And knowing these little things about Chuck was all well and good, because Chuck was his best bro. And it was ok to know things about your best bro like the noise they made when they really liked a milkshake, or how they screamed when  _you are definitely going to get us killed this time, Mikey, I mean it and I’m never getting in a car with you again._    
  
But it was kind of  _less_  ok to notice the fascinating sounds Chuck made when Mike touched him. The little hum of contentment when Mike threw an arm around his shoulders, or the little sigh right before he fell asleep leaning against Mike during one of Texas’s terrible movies, or the  _Mike you god you saved us again_  whimper into his neck after he once again saved them (or failed to get them killed, depending on your perspective).  
  
And it was  _definitely_  not ok to wonder what, well,  _other_  sounds your best bro might make.  
  
It started innocently enough. The jokes always got a bit cruder when it was late at night at the garage, removed from Jacob's presence, and so when Texas had made an offhand comment to Chuck about “Do you scream like that in bed, too?”, Mike had been laughing along with everyone else.  
  
“I meant like nightmares,” Texas insisted, but he was laughing too hard to sound like he meant it. “Because Chuck is such a scaredy cat. Not – “  
  
“I bet he screams like a girl,” Mike taunted, offhanded, because Chuck is bright red but he’s also grinning, too, so it’s ok to joke about, and then Chuck leaned his head back and laughed outright even as he’s protesting -  
  
And suddenly Mike found himself  _imagining_  it without ever meaning to at all. Chuck’s head thrown back, to a pillow or maybe just the wall, his face bright red like it was now,  _screaming_  in a way Mike had never quite heard before but which his imagination was more than willing to create for him, _Mike, Mike, ohgodMike_  –  
  
Mike was just as bright red as Chuck when he managed to force the image out of his mind, and Chuck was waving a hand in front of his face going “Mike, buddy, you ok?” and Mike nodded mechanically.  
  
“Yeah, I’m great. I’m, uh. Going to go wash Mutt.”  
  
It was 2 am, and he was going to do no such thing, but he really hoped Chuck was oblivious enough not to realize what that was code for.

* * *

One time was fine. Sure, he noticed more things about Chuck now; found himself absently wondering, when silence fell on their dining booth, if the noise that Chuck made while eating a french fry dipped in milkshake might end up being referenced again in  _another_  chapter of that book he would never write. But he had only jacked off thinking of Chuck screaming his name that  _one time_ , and he was pretty sure from an awkward late-night conversation with Dutch that if you only fantasized about your friend  _one time_ , it didn’t count.  
  
Then again, it had only been a day and a half, so maybe it was a little soon to tell.  
  
But then Kane  _had_  to attack again. Normally, Mike was  _all_  about Kane attacking. He was made for kicking robot ass, and Kane was the number one supplier of it. But then, 30 seconds into the drive out to meet the robots, Chuck  _screamed_  (and really, they’d only gone over a 20 foot jump, you’d think he would get used to it), and Mike was  _completely distracted._  
  
He didn’t really care if Chuck screamed. His screams had kind of become background noise in the same way that Mutt’s engines had; it just meant that everything was working as it should be. But now he found himself  _noticing_ , and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He’d heard every one of Chuck’s screams before, but now his brain was helpfully overlaying all of them with images of Chuck naked and sweaty, a little bit less terrified and a little bit more in ecstasy. Mike was pretty sure this was the kind of thing people got committed to insane asylums for, because he had never asked for these images –  
  
“MIKE! THAT’S A WALL!”  
  
Twisting the wheel almost on instinct, Mike managed to barely avoid the wall, skidding into a 180 turn and coming to face the battlefield again.  
  
“Man, are you ok?” Dutch’s pixelized face asked from the dashboard. “You’ve barely been here through the whole fight.”  
  
“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Mike gasped, near death finally managing to snap him out of it at least a little. ("I am NOT FINE," Chuck screamed from the passengers seat.) “Where are the rest of them?”  
  
“There is no rest of them, Mike,” Julie said, sounding intensely skeptical. “We already got all of them.”  
  
“Thanks to TEXAS!”  
  
“Oh,” Mike said. Sure enough, the battlefield was a smoking ruin of bots, but there were no lazers or bullets coming from anywhere anymore. “Ok, then. Let’s head back.”  
  
The drive back was quiet, Mike’s mind flicking between guilt at being useless in battle and the incessant images of Chuck, hands clenched in Mike’s hair, screaming for all of Motorcity to hear –   
  
“Mikey, are you okay?” Non-fantasy Chuck’s voice was a lot more quiet and concerned, and Mike realized that he’d driven them back to the garage without even thinking about it. Judging by Chuck’s reasonably composed face, he hadn’t even almost killed him while doing it. “You’ve been pretty out of it today.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Mike said quickly. He sounded short, and flinched. “I just need to think about some stuff. You can go on in.”  
  
“Whatever you say,” Chuck said, skeptical. He lingered in the window, watching Mike, until Mike flashed him a reassuring smile. Chuck returned it, broad and open, and then spun around to stride back into the garage.  
  
Once he was inside, Mike let his head fall back onto the headrest, all his breath leaving him in a rush. He prayed with everything in him that Chuck had  _not_  noticed that he was hard under his jeans, in an aching way that said he was not going to be able to ignore this until it went away.  
  
Chuck’s screams ran through his imagination again, and his cock gave a telling throb.  
  
He might have a problem.

* * *

Two weeks passed, and it only got worse.  
  
For one thing, there’d been way more than one fantasy about Chuck. It was like once he started, he couldn’t stop – every attempt to fantasize something else morphed into Chuck without his permission. He did try to stop, at least at first, but after every mission that resulted in Chuck screaming in Mike’s ear and clinging to him like his life depended on it (which was a  _lot_  of them), he found that he couldn’t resist. He usually didn’t even want to.  
  
Even the rest of the time, he was seeing Chuck differently, and it was a little terrifying. He always brought Chuck coffee while Chuck was working on some elaborate programming thing that was going to save their ass during the next mission, and Chuck had always proceeded to gulp it down with a barely-muttered _thanks, Mikey_. But then he stared a bit too long at Chuck as he drank it, wanting desperately to do  _something_  about the drop of coffee that hovered at the corner of Chuck’s lips.  
  
He raced Chuck with remote control cars, and Chuck had – mostly by happy coincidence – won a round. This wasn't totally unheard of, but when he responded by dancing around and cheering, silly and happy in a way that he didn’t often get to be, Mike found himself  _accidentally_  letting Chuck win a few more times until Dutch noticed and accused him of being off his game.  
  
(He couldn’t let that stand, but after seeing Chuck’s expression when Mike completely decimated him in the next round, he suggested they switch over to Super Brawlers 2 on the TV, which Chuck could destroy him at fair and square.)  
  
And the worst of all of it was,  _Chuck didn’t seem to notice._  Every extra coffee brought to him, every hug after a dangerous mission, every time Mike draped his jacket over his shoulders, Chuck responded with his same friendly smile and not even a blink of realization.  
  
To give Chuck credit, though, there wasn’t much  _to_  notice. Certainly, Mike was being nice to Chuck, giving him things, taking care of him, paying a huge amount of attention to him – and as he did those things, realized that they were all things he’d  _already been doing._  
  
That part, at least, Mike was able to carefully avoid thinking about. Live in the present, and all that.  
  
A day later, they were at the diner, and Chuck had been stealing food off of Mike’s plate for the last ten minutes without Mike making a move to stop it. Julie had already noticed, and was looking between the two of them, a speculative look on her face.  
  
 _This is getting a little ridiculous,_  Mike thought.   
  
Chuck reached over to steal another fry, and Mike pushed the whole plate over to him, even though he did want the fries.  
  
But watching Chuck eat them, making little happy noises and wearing the kind of smile that only food could elicit from Chuck, made it kind of worth it.  
  
 _Alright_ , Mike admitted, just to himself,  _Maybe this is getting a lot ridiculous._  
  
He really had to do something about this.

* * *

Asking Chuck to watch a movie with him had seemed like a good idea at first (that was what dates were like, right?). Sure, it had gotten derailed a bit when Dutch had overheard the invitation and suggested a new action movie that had just filtered down to Motorcity from Deluxe, and Texas had heard the word “action” and come running and Julie just showed up and suddenly all the Burners were watching a movie instead of just him and Chuck.  
  
Still, he was sitting next to Chuck on the smaller couch, so maybe it wasn’t a total lost cause.  
  
Twenty minutes into the movie, though, Mike wasn’t so sure anymore. Reaching between Chuck’s legs to grab popcorn was more distracting than it had any right to be. Every time Chuck leaned in to whisper something in Mike’s ear, goosebumps raced down his arms, the feeling of Chuck’s lips  _right there_  on the shell of his ear stretching his admittedly limited self-control to its limits.  
  
Glancing at Chuck turned out to be a mistake, though. Chuck’s face was  _so close_ , his attention totally rapt on the movie (for all that Chuck hated being  _in_  the car with the explosions going on, he really loved watching them on TV.) This left Mike free to stare at him in a way that he was aware was kind of weird; to notice how he could just see Chuck’s eyes through his hair from this angle, to notice the slick of popcorn butter on his lower lip.  
  
As Mike watched, Chuck’s tongue slipped out and tongued that slick of butter, biting at his lip when the oil refused to come off. It was hypnotizing. It was terrible.  
  
Chuck blindly reached down (between his legs, god) and grabbed another handful of popcorn, popping it into his mouth, and it shouldn’t be possible to be attractive with your mouth full of popcorn but Chuck was managing pretty well. His lips were slick with oil again, and he whined slightly at something onscreen around the mouthful of popcorn, glancing at Mike through his bangs as though Mike could fix things in the movie, too.  
  
Which led to Mike thinking about other things Chuck could be making that whimpering sound around, his lips stretched tight, looking up at Mike through his bangs –   
  
“YEAH!!!!”  
  
Mike jumped out of his skin. He’d forgotten that the rest of their friends were there – he’d almost forgotten there was a movie going on at all. When he looked at the screen, things were exploding everywhere, with the dramatic hero – Mike couldn’t even remember his name – walking coolly away.   
  
Texas was still fist-pumping from the next couch over, shouting something about “That was awesome! I could have done it better and faster, but they had to make the movie longer to account for the hero not being as cool as Texas – “  
  
“Texas, shut up,” Dutch said, and amazingly, he did.  
  
Mike glanced to his right, past Chuck, to the other corner of the room, and found Julie eyeing him, an almost knowing look on her face. She was clearly paying about as much attention to the movie as Mike himself was – none at all.  
  
Julie always had been too perceptive for her own good.  
  
Mike forced himself to watch the movie from that point on, just to spite her, and he didn’t have any more popcorn. The damage was done, though; Chuck’s lips hovered in Mike’s mind, slick and bitten into redness, and Mike found himself wishing that the movie were a  _little_  bit better than the Burner's average fare so that he had something to effectively distract himself.  
  
When the movie ended, he pretended not to hear Chuck saying his name and walked out before the lights come back on, because his pants were foolishly tight and he’d been half-hard for nearly an hour with no signs of it letting up. Tomorrow, Mike figured, Chuck will have forgotten all about Mike running out, but he would  _not_  easily forget Mike getting a boner from apparently watching things explode and sitting next to his best friend.  
  
Mike was so,  _so_  screwed.  
  
When he got back to his room he was stroking himself through his pants before he even managed to get his belt undone, a strange heat scorching the corners of his mind and making the images of Chuck’s lips slick with oil over-vivid. He got stuck on that image, like he had been for the better part of an hour, of what it would be like, pushing his cock past those lips, if Chuck would make that same surprised noise and look up at Mike through his bangs –   
  
When Mike came it was almost a surprise, too fast and not quite enough.  
  
Mike stripped off his pants after that, changing swiftly, skipping most of his evening routine and falling carelessly into bed. For a few minutes, he just stared at the ceiling, discontent without knowing why. He fell asleep much later, with an empty feeling lodged in his throat and an ache in his chest that he couldn’t quite figure out or will away.  
  
(His dreams were very silimar and very different from his fantasies – Chuck pressed next to him on the same couch, whispering those same comments into his ear but leaving his head on Mike’s shoulder afterwards, Mike’s arm around Chuck’s waist. They didn't kiss and he watched the movie all the way through before the dream faded away.   
  
When Mike woke the next morning, his chest ached that little bit less, and he tried not to think about it.)

* * *

The next time Mike tried to ask Chuck out, he made sure the Burners were nowhere nearby – they were not even in the same building, in fact, scattered to the winds with various projects on a Tuesday night – and then asked him to dinner at Mario’s diner.  
  
They didn't often go to Mario’s, both because it wasn't as close as Antonio’s, and because it was more expensive. But Mario's also had the best burgers that they Burners have ever tasted (and they had tried every diner in Motorcity), and so it was only to be expected that Chuck’s whole face lit up as he went “What, yeah, absolutely! Oh, except, um, I’m, uh. I’m pretty short on cash right now, Mikey, maybe we could just do Antonio’s? But if you really wanted it I’m sure I could scrape it together – “  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Mike cut him off, already pulling Chuck over to Mutt with the arm that’s wrapped around his shoulder. “My treat.”  
  
“Oh,” Chuck said, blinking. Mike pushed him towards Mike passengers side, and Chuck seemed to climb into Mutt almost by instinct, his movements a little slower.   
  
Mike can’t see his eyes from this angle, but he can tell Chuck’s still unsure by the set of his mouth, and cuts off the questions by saying, “So you just leveled up on Lazer Swords 4, right?”  
  
“Oh, yeah!” Chuck said, and he’s totally distracted, turning to Mike and for once not opening up his computers as soon as he’s settled in Mutt’s passenger seat. The drive to Mario’s isn’t a particularly treacherous or long one, and Mike’s glad to know that Chuck has enough faith in him for that, at least. “And I got this new spell with it, it lets me lazer-power up my lance and it gave me this great idea for a power-up for Mutt.”  
  
The topic of video games carried them through the whole drive to Mario’s, and once they got settled (at a small table for two in the back corner, with a cheap florescent candle guttering in the middle, and Mike wondered if Chuck even noticed that little detail) it transitioned smoothly into upgrades for Mutt.   
  
When Chuck started talking about installing a cannon on Mutt that would fling shuriken-type things at enemies, he reached up and pulled his bangs out of his eyes so that he could see Mike more clearly and he’s smiling so broadly that Mike was tempted to agree to the totally stupid idea on the spot. On the table, Chuck’s hands were stretched out, illustrating his idea, and he’s using the back of Mike’s palms as a diagram for Mutt, his fingertips brushing to indicate where he wanted everything to go. It’s tiny point of contact, and the warmth that was running through Mike at it was totally uncalled for.  
  
“Chuck, buddy,” Mike said, smiling. “Slow down. One cannon at a time.” Chuck deflated, and Mike couldn’t stand that, so he said, “Go back to the Shuriken cannon. How would we aim the Shurikens?”  
  
Their food came (and Chuck’s took up most of the table, since he got a discounted two-for-one entrée special except both of the entrees were for him) and they transitioned topics again, into the Duke’s junkyards and how much easier building custom parts had become since they got access to them. Conversation waned a little as they ate, but half the time Chuck was talking around the food in his mouth. Mike told him about this ridiculous dragon gun that he found in one of Duke’s junkyards, and Chuck said “Oh god, don’t tell Texas, it’ll be on his car within the hour,” and Mike spent the next minute choking on lettuce.  
  
They finished, and the bill came, and Mike didn’t even let Chuck look at it (although he did cringe a little – but it wasn't like he couldn't afford it, being a Burner was reasonably well-paying, and this was a good cause if he’d ever heard one.) The conversation never quite fell silent, every lull just giving rise to another quick topic change. When they got back into Mutt, it finally fell quiet, and Mike felt awkward until he gathered the courage to glance over at Chuck and found him asleep.  
  
When they got back to the garage, Chuck didn’t quite wake, and Mike spent a long moment savoring being able to just look at Chuck. Imagined picking him up, carrying him up to the room Chuck sleeps in above the garage. The surprised squeak when Mike drops him on the bed (the same one as when Mike drives over a bump a bit too fast in Mutt, but more sleepy, more intimate), and the frantic squeak turning into a contented sigh as Mike climbs over him to join him on the bed.  
  
This fantasy had the potential to get out of hand really fast, so it was with no small amount of regret that Mike reached over and shook Chuck’s shoulder. “Chuck, buddy,” he said. “Come on, wake up, we’re back.”  
  
Chuck gave a sleepy moan that shot straight to Mike’s groin and almost elicited an answering moan. It hadn’t been that bad all night, more like hanging out with Chuck as it used to be, but now, having Chuck alone and sleepy and smiling softly at Mike just as he wakes, it’s almost too much.  
  
Chuck stretched fluidly and got out of the car, but Mike hadn’t had time to breathe a sigh of relief before Chuck reappeared at his driver’s side window, leaning down on his crossed arms to look at Mike. It brought his face so close that Mike’s breath came out a little shaky, instead.  
  
“Hey, listen,” Chuck said, and Mike definitely was. “Tonight, you paying, it wasn’t for that nav system upgrade on Mutt, right? Because I know it was a lot of work, but seriously, I ride in Mutt too, I don’t need any repayment for doing these things – “  
  
“What?” Mike said. The confusion was genuine, but he was close enough to Chuck that he could see his eyes past his bangs, and Chuck was serious. That hurt a little. “What, no, Chuck. I mean, I am grateful for the ugrade. But no. This was just…”  
  
Mike trails off.  
  
There’s so many things that he  _should_  put there, because as much as this was  _obviously a date_ , Chuck was not getting it. And Mike knew he wasn’t getting it. And something should probably be done about that.  
  
But Chuck was watching him, and part of his mind was still thinking about Chuck moaning on the bed upstairs, and he couldn’t do it. Mike Chilton was no coward, but he just, he couldn’t do this. Not right now.  
  
“Just because,” he finished lamely.  
  
Chuck smiled anyways, flipping his bangs a little to see Mike clearly, and it was then that it crashed back in how  _close_  Chuck’s face is. He was still sleepy, and Mike’s a bit out of it too, and they just sat there for a moment. Mike found his eyes drifting to Chuck’s lips, and they got stuck there, and he found himself leaning in without even thinking about it. He caught himself and stopped, looking up, and Chuck –   
  
Was snapping his eyes up from somewhere that seemed weirdly close to Mike’s lips, too, a flush spreading over his face, drowning out his freckles in its intensity. There was a moment where Mike was intensely aware of Chuck’s breath on his face, and then Chuck was flailing backwards in a whirlwind of awkward limbs, banging his elbow on Mutt, almost falling on his butt but managing to right himself at the last moment.  
  
“Right,” Chuck said, his voice hiked up like it is after a near miss in a car chase. “Um. Goodnight, bro.”  
  
Chuck was up the stairs before Mike could reply.  
  
Drawing in a very long, very calming breath, Mike sat back in Mutt.  
  
And then banged his head against the headrest a few times, trying to straighten out his thoughts.  
  
“Did we just?” he asked Mutt. His fingertips were tingling.  
  
The bobblehead on the dash was bobbling a nod, but then, it couldn’t shake its head, so Mike didn’t think it counted.

* * *

Jacob had taught him once that part of being a good leader was knowing when to run away, and when to charge in swinging.  
  
This, Mike decided, was definitely a situation that warranted charging in swinging. Swinging  _what_ , he wasn’t sure, because trying to get Chuck to kiss his face was not exactly the same kind of situation as defeating a squadron of killer Kane robots, but still, dancing around the issue like this was clearly not getting them anywhere.  
  
So when he invited Chuck to another movie with  _just the two of them_ , and Chuck mindlessly and enthusiastically agreed – again – Mike made the agreement with himself that he wasn’t going to end this night without  _something_  changing. For better or (cringe) worse, he couldn’t go on wanting to lick his best friend’s teeth at every opportunity without the best friend being at least aware of that desire, if not sharing it (god, Mike really hoped he shared it). It was distracting, and also, Mike was beginning to feel, kind of not fair to Chuck.  
  
Everything started out well, as in, completely as usual. They somehow managed to find a spy movie they hadn’t seen before, and Chuck had settled in with a massive bowl of popcorn. Mike sat himself down next to Chuck, and felt a tiny twinge of guilt mixed with hope at how Chuck didn’t even blink at sitting so close to Mike, their legs pressed together almost thigh to ankle. Fifteen minutes into the movie, he slung an arm around Chuck’s shoulders to pull him in and say a comment into his ear, despite the fact that there was nobody else around to hide the comment from. Chuck laughed; Mike’s stomach twisted.  
  
God, he was so  _screwed._  
  
The movie passed in kind of a haze. Mike Chilton did not get  _nervous_ , but it was pretty hard to pretend that this feeling was anything else. He was aware of the feeling of Chuck breathing against him. Every few moments he had to stifle the urge to run his fingers through Chuck’s hair, which would be  _so easy_  with his hand on Chuck’s shoulder like it was. Suave spies, as it turned out, could not come close to holding Mike’s attention when there was a relaxed and amused Chuck within arm’s reach.  
  
(Mike was used to wanting to protect Chuck, to keep him close. He was even starting to get used to the idea of wanting to do filthy things to Chuck naked, mostly because he couldn’t really ignore that. But this – wanting to run his fingers through Chuck’s hair – this was a new kind of weird and Mike didn’t want to think too hard about it quite yet.)  
  
When the credit’s finally rolled, Chuck turned to him, enthusiasm written all over his face. “Oh my gosh, Mike, when the thermolock doors sealed on the bunker I  _really thought_  he might….”  
  
Chuck trailed off, his eyes fixed on Mike’s face, just a couple inches away. A brief moment of silence passed. Chuck’s breath sped up and them he visibly forced it to slow down, his eyes flicking over Mike’s face and then resting firmly on his eyes.   
  
Mike was taking in everything about Chuck's face like time has slowed down just to let him look a little longer. The pattern of Chuck's freckles, the fall of his hair, the way his eyes were wide with nervousness. Mike felt frozen in place. His nerves tingled in an almost painful way, like after he’d been electrocuted trying to upgrade Mutt.

“I mean,” Chuck began again. His voice was uneven. “And then he pulled out that new gun, I’d totally forgotten he had that, and that’s not really how AI security systems work but it was still a really cool – “  
  
“Chuck – “  
  
“scene I mean aside from the part where I screamed um – “  
  
Mike wrapped his hand in Chuck’s hair and pulled him forward without really thinking it through. Chuck’s babbling dissolved into making a frantic noise against the corner of Mike’s mouth, his hands flailing between their chests. Mike had never heard that particular noise before, but he was pretty sure it meant  _oh god, oh god, I think my best friend is kissing me oh god._  
  
Because Mike was. Kissing Chuck.   
  
(Well, there was a lot of hair between them, but that was unmistakably what this was supposed to be.)   
  
Mike's world stuttered, tilted, and resumed spinning.  
  
Chuck had frozen solid and was making some kind of solid keening noise that meant Mike might have actually managed to  _break_  Chuck, and oh, shit, that wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all.  
  
Mike broke away and removed his hand from Chuck’s hair, and then took it a step further and started removing himself from the couch entirely. It might have been too much to hope, but he really hoped he didn’t just fuck up  _catastrophically._  Because, obviously, he had fucked up somewhat.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said, too quick. “I’m really sorry, Chuckles, I just thought – I didn’t think I – I figured you deserved to know – “  
  
“Mikey,” Chuck was saying over him, his eyes kind of wide with panic but firm in the way that they sometimes get in the middle of battle, when he’s hacking into a security system going 250 miles per hour.  
  
“But this wasn’t really how I was planning on telling you,” Mike was babbling on, and Chuck was saying “Mikey” again as he grabbed his arm and pulled. Mike was confused and off-balanced as so he fell, graceless, into Chuck’s lap, knocking the breath out of both of them for a moment.  
  
“Uh,” Mike gasped, trying to rearrange his limbs and figure out what exactly was going on. His heart, which had begun to hurt from beating so fast, was now doing hopeful, nervous backflips in his chest. “What – “  
  
He managed to pull his head back enough to see Chuck’s face in about the same moment that Chuck got his hand free from underneath Mike’s knee, and Chuck unceremoniously grabbed Mike’s face and pulled it to his.  
  
It still didn’t totally line up, and Chuck’s lips were kind of mashed to the corner of Mike’s chin and his nose was poking into Chuck’s cheekbone and bits of Chuck’s hair were stuck between them and it was really awkward. And.  
  
Chuck was kissing him.  
  
Chuck was kissing him?  
  
Oh.  
  
Chuck pulled back, kind of breathless, staring at Mike’s face with the expression of a rabbit about to bolt. His hands were still cupping Mike’s cheeks, one thumb stroking absentmindedly.  
  
Mike was not sure what was going on, but if Chuck changed his mind or he’s somehow misunderstood, he wanted to get at least one good kiss out of this deal.  
  
They can talk about it later, anyways, Mike figured, and tangled his hand in Chuck’s hair to pull it out of his face and shifted so that he wasn't quite so sprawled on top of him. He tilted their faces, Chuck leaned into his touch, and Mike moved forward and tried this whole kissing thing again.  
  
It wasn’t much. It was a press of lips to lips, and Chuck’s were chapped and Mike could feel the two little calluses where Chuck tends to bite his lip so hard it bleeds. Mike’s heart was beating like the moment before a race, all breathlessness and tension and terror drowned out by  _oh my god, this is going to be great._  
  
And then Chuck shifted, gasped a little, and Mike almost unintentionally pressed forward and licked Chuck’s lower lip, and Chuck  _whimpered_ and mumbled “Mikey” into Mike’s mouth.   
  
And it was like that was what Mike had been waiting for. He shifted again, settled himself into Chuck’s lap, felt his legs press into Chuck’s bony hips and enjoyed the feeling way more than he should. Chuck’s mouth opened a little and they’re both clumsy, too much tongue and then too little and a little bit too much spit everywhere, but it didn’t matter, it didn’t. Because Chuck had one hand on Mike’s arm and the other on his back, like he needed to make sure Mike isn’t going anywhere, and he kept making these high-pitched noises that were like shocks of electricity right down Mike’s spine.  
  
Mike bites Chuck's lower lip, and is rewarded with that same squeak again before Chuck grips his hair and licks into his mouth again.  
  
It’s exactly like being in a race. The whole world was gone outside of this one thing, kissing Chuck, faded into a staticy blur that didn’t matter. His heart was racing but his mind was clear and it’s like he was trying to take in everything about Chuck all at once, the way his mouth tasted faintly of artificial butter and his hair was exactly as soft as it looks and he whined when Mike pulls gently at it.  
  
They stayed like that for a while, searching, exploring. Chuck’s hand stroked Mike’s back, settling on his lower back and seemingly not daring to go any lower. Mike abandoned Chuck’s lips at one point to kiss down his neck, suck at the side of it, and Chuck gasped urgently, “Mike,  _Mikey_ ” and pulled his head back up to kiss him and arch into him in a way that had Mike clenching with the effort of restraining himself.

It was when he caught his hips rolling forward without his permission, causing jolts of not-quite-enough pleasure to go through him, that he forced himself to pull back. They were both breathing hard, hands still wandering a little, Mike’s buried in Chuck’s hair. Chuck’s eyes snapped open and he looked afraid for half a second, but something in Mike’s face must have reassured him, because he relaxed very slightly into the couch. His hands came to rest on Mike’s thighs, fingertips tracing small circles into Mike’s pants.   
  
A slow moment passed. Chuck put forward a shaky smile, and Mike returned it. Nobody was talking, and they probably should have been, so Mike started “I, um,” and then had no idea where to go with that. He was still staring at Chuck’s face and realizing that he  _knew what his lips tasted like_  and he couldn't seem to get past that thought and say anything meaningful.  
  
Chuck wasn’t faring much better. He stared awkwardly at Mike, slowly turning an impressive shade of red, saying, “What?” and then, a moment later, “So, uh.”  
  
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Mike said, and then promptly wished he could yank it back into his mouth because  _where did that come from._  
  
It was worth the embarassment, though, for the way Chuck’s eyes widened and color rose even higher in his cheeks in the way that always happened when he was complimented. A small, pleased smile came onto his face even as he hid his eyes behind his hair.  
  
“We could,” Chuck said. “We should, uh. Go to bed.” He saw Chuck’s eyebrows go up and started laughing almost before Chuck can start frantically backpedalling, “I mean, separately! Definitely. In entirely different beds. Different rooms. Just. Sleeping. Well maybe – no no _no_  just sleeping, 100% sleeping and not implying anything else oh my god nyugh.”  
  
Mike fell off of Chuck’s lap laughing, collapsing sideways onto the couch, and then Chuck was laughing at himself too, his face flushed and hidden behind his hands, still looking at Mike from between his fingers with a kind of unspeakable wonder. (His laughter had a new sound, too – a little more carefree and open, a way he’s only ever been around Mike.)  
  
They could always talk in the morning, Mike figured.  
  
He got up from the couch and then offered Chuck a hand to pull him up too, smiling as he does. Chuck smiled back, awkward and awestruck and totally certain.  
  
That was good enough for now.

* * *

“We should, um,” Chuck panted. Determined to distract him from whatever thing they should be doing, Mike kissed his neck, the corner of his jaw. Just as planned, Chuck broke off, gasping and clenching a hand in the back of Mike’s shirt. Mike attacked that spot with renewed interest, causing Chuck to writhe underneath him, arching upwards. He let out a long, low groan, and Mike could feel his heart speed up at that because it was a noise that Chuck only ever made when they were like this.  
  
“Mike,” Chuck mumbled. He reached up to tangle a hand in Mike’s hair and them seemed to get distracted for a second, combing his hands through it, sending goosebumps down Mike’s spine. Mike kissed down Chuck’s neck to his adams apple. Gasping, Chuck pulled at Mike’s hair. “Oh god,” Chuck gasped, squeaked when Mike sucked harder in reply, “Mikey, Mike.” Mike sucked at Chuck’s neck. “Mike, wait for a second.”  
  
Mike pulled away, but only an inch, only enough to look at Chuck’s flushed face and disheveled hair, trying to drink in the image before Chuck pushed him away again.  
  
They were in the “living room,” again, late at night, past when all the other Burners had long since headed home. Although they’d started out watching a movie, that had almost become code for them to shamelessly make out on the couch where they’d first kissed. It’d been a couple weeks since then, and they’d done this three times, every night ending in the same way –   
  
 _“Mikey, someone could come in.”  
  
“They won’t, Chuckles, it’s 2 am – “  
  
“They –  **ah**  – they  **could** , they could have forgotten their – “_  
  
And then Chuck would pull Mike’s hand out from under his shirt and Mike would sigh and remove himself to the other side of the couch until he could manage his urge to pin Chuck to the couch cushions and test his theories about the noise Chuck would make when he kissed his stomach.  
  
It was a frustrating cycle, but all things considered, he wasn’t going to complain, and he wasn’t going to push. It was Chuck’s decision.  
  
(Besides, this way he got to very slowly discover all the noises Chuck could make, the gasping squeak when Mike pulled at his hair, the deep groan when Mike sucked at his neck. The moans were the worst and best, though, always when Mike’s hands slipped under Chuck’s shirt and Chuck’s hips started jilting upward, a low and slow noise that trailed off into panting and made Mike’s cock twitch with interest -- )  
  
“We should go up to my room,” Chuck said.  
  
Mike was already pulling away when Chuck’s words registered, and he stilled abruptly, staring at Chuck. Chuck was turning an  _unhealthy_  shade of red, looking almost painfully embarrassed, and he pulled an arm off of Mike just to throw it over his face as he started talking, “I mean, we don’t have to, I don’t know if you, but you’re so damn noble and I figured that you were waiting for me to ask but maybe you weren’t oh god I’m sorry if I –“  
  
“Yes,” Mike interrupted him, cutting off the flow of words by pulling Chuck’s arm off of his face, kissing him sloppily, and then pulling back before they could get distracted again. This was worth concentrating for. “That sounds like the best idea you’ve had all day. Including that new safety thing for Mutt. Yes.”  
  
Chuck was still painfully red, but he looked pleased, and was also running his hands down Mike’s back in an unmistakable caress. “Ok. Um.” A moment passed. They stared at each other. “You kind of have to get off of me, Mike.”  
  
“Right,” Mike said, and scrambled off the couch. He couldn’t quite think, the image of Chuck sprawled out on the couch looking ravaged and eyeing him up like he was a delicious bit of food frying his brain a bit. He reached out a hand and pulled Chuck up off the couch, pressing a kiss to his chin when they ended up close together.  
  
Chuck led the way up the stairs, a strange tension between them. Mike wanted to keep touching Chuck, never wanted to stop touching Chuck, but he also thought they should possibly talk about this. If there was anything to talk about. Mike didn’t  _know_  if there was anything to talk about, which was probably a good indication that there was, in fact, something to talk about.  
  
Mike had never made out with his best friend before; he wasn’t really sure what the rules were for something like this.  
  
When they reached Chuck’s room, though, with a locked door between them and the rest of the world, Mike found that he cared a lot less about _talking_. He gripped Chuck by the hips and pinned him to the little bit of empty wall next to the door, stepping over some bits of clothing and kicking a spare car part out of his way. Chuck slouched down to meet him, and then they were kissing again.

They’d gotten better at kissing since their first disastrous attempts. Chuck had learned how to tilt his head to keep his nose out of the way, and there was less spit involved, and Mike had discovered that there was something to Chuck’s inclination to take everything slowly.  
  
(Most of the time, though, they still kissed like they drove – a little too fast and a little too much and so wonderful that they both kind of thought that they could do this until they die.)  
  
This time, though, they were kissing with  _purpose_. Mike broke away after just a few seconds, kissing along Chuck’s jaw, sucking at the skin underneath Chuck’s ear and listening to his open-mouth pants against his own. He slipped his hands under the edge of Chuck’s shirt, listened to Chuck’s mumbled, “Ah, ah, Mikey” before Chuck returned the favor and kissed at Mike’s neck. He was a little sloppy, but earnest, enthusiastic. He sucked at the sensitive skin, and Mike’s hands clenched, scraping his nails across the bare skin of Chuck’s back.  
  
Chuck taking the initiative was  _hot_.  
  
Chuck worked at his neck, kisses and even little bites interspersed with panting as Mike slowly worked Chuck’s shirt off. When he had it about halfway up, he slipped his hand around and smoothly rubbed his thumb over a nipple.  
  
Pain jolted him a little as Chuck bit too hard at his neck. They both jumped, scrambling for a second to get both closer and further away. A moment later Chuck’s head was leaning against the wall, his neck stretched back, and Chuck babbled, “Shit, shit, I’m so sorry, you just – that just – wow I have no idea what’s coming out of my mouth, I’m sorry there’s totally going to be a mark – “  
  
“It’s fine,” Mike said, and worked Chuck’s shirt the rest of the way off of him while Chuck was conveniently leaned back. “I really don’t care who knows, Chuck, it’s fine,”  
  
“I don’t know if I care or not,” Chuck said, and yeah, they really should talk about this, but Chuck’s  _shirt is off_  and Mike has actually very rarely seen Chuck’s bare chest. Chuck was embarrassed about his lack of muscle, Mike knew, but right then he was caught up in  _oh god so much bare skin_  and he kind of liked how skinny Chuck was, anyways.  
  
And then he was kissing down Chuck’s chest, mouthing his collar bone and kissing the freckles on his shoulders that were only dimly visible in the poor light of Chuck’s room. Chuck’s skin was warm, and smooth, and tasted faintly of salt and the cheap, shitty soap that was common in Motorcity, but it was Chuck and so it was a little wonderful. Chuck was breathing hard, his hands stroking down Mike’s sides, wrapping around his shoulders, combing at his hair, restless and uncertain. Chuck fingered the edge of Mike’s t-shirt but made no move to take it off.  
  
Emboldened by Chuck’s earlier reaction, Mike moved down to Chuck’s nipples and sucked one into his mouth.  
  
Chuck  _shrieked_. Quietly, but still undeniably a shriek, the same kind of reaction Mike got when he took a curve too fast in Mutt or narrowly avoided a lazer. Mike felt his reaction straight through his body, a bolt of lightning from the tip of his head and culminating in a heavy pulse in his groin.   
  
Mike smirked up at Chuck’s red face, unable to help his amusement as Chuck glanced down at him and then quickly turned his eyes up to the ceiling, moving a hand up to cover his mouth. Mike stuck his tongue out again and licked slowly at the nipple in front of him, a simple drag of skin against skin.  
  
Chuck was almost  _sobbing_  around his hand, his breath coming out in a couple of little bursts as he mumbled, “Oh, ohmygodMike.” When Mike sealed his lips around the flesh and sucked, hard and just once, Chuck’s hips jolted forward and Chuck groaned and let out a sob against his palm.  
  
It sounded like the kind of noise Chuck made when he had resigned himself to death, the tone that Chuck used when he knew that Mike was too much for him.  
  
Mike was pretty sure he was going to have to kick Chuck out of Mutt now, because every time Chuck made that noise from this point on he was going to be hard as a rock within a second.

Partially because he wanted this to last, Mike gave one last lick to the other nipple and then kept moving downwards, kissing across Chuck’s stomach. The muscles, such as they were, twitched underneath his mouth, drawing Chuck’s back up off the wall as he leaned into Mike’s mouth. Chuck’s hands were restless, one of them stroking up his side, across his shoulder, into his hair as more and more of Mike moved out of reach.  
Mike kissed Chuck’s hipbone, and Chuck’s hips thrust forward as Chuck let out a muffled whimper.  
  
When he looked up, one of Chuck’s hands was covering his mouth resolutely, Chuck’s eyes hidden behind his bangs again. His whole face was bright red, spreading down his neck and onto his chest, and from this angle it was obvious that he was trembling slightly.  
  
“Chuck,” Mike said softly. “Hey, come on.”  
  
Chuck opened his eyes and looked down at Mike over his hand, and let out a long, low whine. He removed his hand to mumble, “Oh my _god,_  you do not understand, Mike, I cannot look at you if we want this to last. At all. I – you are  _on your knees_  in front of me and I  _cannot shut up_  and I’m sorry, I can’t, I am  _holy shit_ ”  
  
Mike had watched this monologue with mild amusement, and then slowly, purposefully, leaned forward and mouthed Chuck through his jeans, breathing hot air through the thick fabric and feeling Chuck’s cock twitch underneath them.  
  
Chuck’s hand tangled in his hair, offering no help as Mike undid Chuck’s belt with slightly shaking hands. He’d never done this before, either; had thought about it, had heard about it, had seen a decent share of porn in his life, but had never actually  _done_  it.  
  
But Chuck was having enough of a nervous breakdown for the both of them, and how difficult could this really be?  
  
When Mike pulled down Chuck’s jeans (Chuck, at least, managed to work them the rest of the way off once they are down to his knees, and only kneed Mike in the arm once while doing it), he was still a little overwhelmed. His best friend’s dick was  _right there,_  outlined through his underwear and painfully hard, and Mike was so turned on that this all still felt a little bit unreal.  
  
He took it slow, for his own sanity, mouthing slowly at the shape through his tighty-whities (god, Chuck would wear lame underwear, and Mike shouldn’t find that hot) and savoring the way Chuck’s hand clutched spasmodically in his hair. Through the fabric, he found the tip and licked at it, pressing his tongue slow and hard against the point until he knew Chuck could feel the moisture.  
  
By the time Mike pulled the underwear out of the way Chuck was almost too far gone to be embarrassed, and so, for that matter, was Mike.  
  
As Mike found himself staring, though, Chuck started making high, quiet whining noises in his throat, somewhere between desperation and crippling embarrassment. Deciding to spare him any further pain, even if he wanted to drink in this sight, Mike leaned forward and kissed the tip.  
  
Chuck made a muffled shout, his whole chest moving with it, breathing hard through his nose. Mike looked up through his lashes and found Chuck's fist back in his mouth, biting it in a way that looked like it probably hurt a little.  
  
“Chuckles,” Mike said, against Chuck’s cock. Chuck made a muffled sobbing noise that might have been acknowledgement and might have been an indication that Chuck was completely gone at this point. “Buddy, look at me.”  
  
Chuck took the fist out of his mouth – yup, there are marks there where his teeth had bit in – said, “Can’t, will definitely come right away, we  _went over this,_  oh god” and stuffed the fist back in.  
  
Mike kind of wanted this to last, so he let that pass and instead grabbed at the forearm of the hand Chuck had in his mouth. “Hey,” he said. He pulled at the hand, and Chuck slowly allowed Mike to pull it away. “I,” Mike said, and then found that this was surprisingly hard to say, for the circumstance that they were in.  
  
“I want to hear you,” Mike said, and then kissed the tip of Chuck’s cock as his cheeks flamed red and his chest tightened.  
  
“Oh, my god,” Chuck gasped. When Mike looks up, he still wasn’t looking at Mike, but he hadn’t pulled his hand back from Mike’s hold on his wrist, and the other hand was still tangled in Mike’s hair. Encouraged, Mike threaded their fingers together.  
  
Holding hands like that, Mike sucked the head of Chuck’s cock into his mouth and licked at it.  
  
Chuck choked, clearly still holding back noises but having a much harder time of it with his hands occupied.   
  
This was weird, Mike decided, the skin a little more salty and bitter here and a weird soft-hard texture, and his heart’s beating as fast as it ever was during a life-or-death battle. But when he slid a little more into his mouth, almost to the point of choking, just to hear Chuck give a choked-off moan –  
  
Yeah, Mike figured, worth it.

After another second Mike got his other hand involved, balancing carefully on his knees so that he could stroke what of Chuck doesn’t fit in his mouth. Chuck was whining in a pained sort of way, and Mike looked up at him and felt a jolt of sympathy.  
  
Mike pulled off of Chuck, but kept his hand there, stroking, and he murmured, “Chuck. Don’t – I want to hear you.”  
  
 _“I don’t want anyone to hear me,”_  Chuck said in almost a panicked whisper, his breath so unsteady it sounded like he was on the edge of hyperventilating. Mike squeezed experimentally, and Chuck groaned out loud, his control shattering a little. He recovered a second later, “Mike, someone could hear – “  
  
“There’s no one here to hear,” Mike said, and leaned forward to kiss at the base, in the blond curls there. He moved up to the smooth skin of Chuck’s stomach and mouthed against the skin there, “Nobody can hear but me.”  
  
“But it’s so  _lame_ ,” Chuck babbled, quickly losing coherency and inhibitions as Mike continued touching him. “I’m always screaming and crying and it’s such a wimpy thing to do and it’s not any cooler with – with this type of thing – “  
  
“You’re not a wimp,” Mike said, and he couldn’t believe they were having this conversation now, but they were and he would say it because it needed to be said. He slowed his hand, but didn’t stop it. “You’re incredibly brave, and the screaming doesn’t change that. Besides – “ Mike leaned forward again, pressed a kiss to the inside of Chuck’s thigh. “Your noises – “ He moved closer to Chuck’s dick, “are so,” and closer, “incredibly,” he hovered over the tip, and looked up, past their joined hands, to find Chuck watching him with a look of awe from under his bangs. “Sexy,” he mumbled, and drew Chuck into his mouth again.  
  
Chuck let out a half-aroused, half-embarrassed sob, squeezed Mike’s hand so tight it almost hurt.  
  
As Mike leaned down again, pressed himself as far as he could go without gagging, Chuck’s sobbing escalated, turning into a babbled “Ah, ah,  _Mike, ah_ ,” sending jolts straight to Mike’s groin.   
  
Mike pulled off for a second, breathing hard against Chuck, listening to Chuck's little sobs come out on every breath. He looked up at Chuck from under his lashes and found that Chuck's eyes were still fixed on his face, although glazed and unfocused.  
  
"I want you to scream for me," Mike whispered. Chuck's breathing froze, his whole body going still, staring at Mike. "I don't care if anyone hears."  
  
Unsure where this was coming from, Mike went with it, using his hand to grip Chuck's length harder, leaning forward until his breath brushed Chuck's sensitive skin as he spoke.   
  
"Scream for me, babe."  
  
Chuck threw his head back and nearly did just that, a wailing keen that accompanied a shudder through his whole body. He babbled a variation of Mike's name and "Oh my god" and what might have been "that was the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me," slightly garbled.  
  
Assured that Chuck wasn’t going to be trying to hold himself back now, Mike went to work finding out at least a few of the noises that Chuck could make. He heard all of the moans – all the ones that Chuck made for a really good milkshake or a cup of coffee in the middle of a programming binge, the new and improved and sexy versions of the sounds Mike had been noticing for weeks.  
  
It was driving Mike absolutely insane. He didn’t have a hand free to touch himself, but it didn’t matter, he was going to come untouched if Chuck kept  _sobbing_  his name like that, his volume quickly escalating.  
  
“Mike,” Chuck said quickly, just a couple minutes later, his voice nearly a shout by now. “Mikey, Mikohgod,  _god_ , I’m, you’re so  _good Mike I’m_ – “   
  
Mike took him in and swallowed around him, once and hard and squeezing Chuck’s hand and the same time.  
  
All at once, Chuck screamed out, his back arched off the wall, glorious and stunning and better than anything Mike had ever seen or heard. Mike actually froze, awestruck, watching Chuck, stuck on the idea that he had made Chuck scream.  
  
 _God._  
  
The spurt of come on his tongue actually startled him, he was so caught up in watching Chuck. It was bitter and thick in a way he hadn’t expected, and he spit before he really realized was he was doing – kind of rude, he realized, plus the rest of it got on his hand and shirt.But Chuck was a boneless puddle sliding down the wall, and his eyes were closed, and Mike really didn’t think he cared just now. Looking down at the state of his shirt, Mike made a face, wiped the rest of it on the soiled fabric, and then stripped his shirt off entirely and tossed it onto Chuck’s floor, unable to make himself care right that moment.  
  
Because right that moment he had a sated and soft Chuck almost level with him, sunk onto the ground, naked – wow, he was really naked, that hadn’t fully registered with Mike yet – and smiling softly at him, all dazed affection and awe.

Without deciding to, Mike found himself leaning forward, kissing Chuck in a kind of daze, the two of them falling together and backwards onto the floor. Mike had to shove a car part out from underneath his back, and the room wasn’t so large that this was quite comfortable, but then Chuck was working at the fastening to his belt and it became a lot harder to care.  
  
When Chuck managed to get Mike’s pants open, settling himself on Mike’s thighs and looking almost criminally pleased with himself, Mike found it in himself to groan, “Chuck, you know you don’t – have to – “  
  
“Mike,” Chuck said, and his voice was lower and a little hoarse and  _holy shit_  Mike hadn’t even known he could react like that to someone’s voice. “Shut up.”  
  
Chuck pulled him out of his boxers and squeezed him with a kind of lazy confidence that could only be coming from the afterglow. His fingers were longer than Mike’s, quick and gentle where they flicked over the tip to collect the slick there, strong and smooth where they gripped him.  
  
Mike looked up at Chuck, hovering over him, watching him through his bangs with a small smile. He wanted to hold it together. He wanted to look cool in front of Chuck.  
  
But he’d asked Chuck to come undone for him, and it was only fair that Chuck get to see him do the same.  
  
So Mike bit his lip and groaned, loud and genuine, when Chuck twisted his hand in a way that Mike had never felt before. Every noise Chuck made above him brought back sense memories of the sound of Chuck screaming as he pulsed in Mike’s mouth. Heat washed through him and he lost himself to it, hips jumping up and running into the solid weight of Chuck above him, hands sliding and clutching and eventually finding an anchor at Chuck’s knees. He fought to keep his eyes open, fixed on Chuck watching him, but he lost that battle within seconds.  
  
With his eyes closed, he was surprised when suddenly Chuck was pressed to him, kissing him with all that bare skin between them touching, his strokes speeding up as he whispered into Mike’s mouth, “Come on, come on.”  
  
The world went gloriously, flaringly white.  
  
When he opened his eyes, he was breathing harder than that time he’d almost crashed them into a wall. Chuck was laying on him, but he could see from this angle that he still had that goofy smile on his face, half-bured in Mike’s chest.  
  
It was a mystery how they managed to get into the bed, both languid and clumsy with afterglow and slightly cramped muscles from being against the wall and on the floor. They tumbled onto the top of the sheets, both mostly naked and completely tangled up in each other. Chuck's elbows were everywhere, and Mike had his nose buried in Chuck's hair, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this happy before.  
  
Sleep was drawing Mike in within seconds, but just before he lost all awareness, he heard – almost felt – Chuck mumble something into his shoulder.  
  
And it sounded like “I ub doo,” but even three-fourths asleep Mike spoke sleepy-shy Chuck.  
  
(And if he ever wrote that hypothetical book, if he ever collected every wonderful and endearing sound that Chuck made into one place  
  
Then that sleepy mumble would still be the best one Mike had ever heard.)


End file.
